


Practice

by bibliothekara



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Gen, PTSD, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-17
Updated: 2011-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 20:25:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliothekara/pseuds/bibliothekara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" ...right now, he's hers. In this midnight hour, he belongs to JJ alone, and damned if she will give him up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice

**Author's Note:**

> a) Written for [](http://bluerosefairy.livejournal.com/profile)[**bluerosefairy**](http://bluerosefairy.livejournal.com/) 's prompt at the[ The Dudley Do-Right Memorial Peril/Hurt/Comfort/Id-Fic-Athon: CM Gen/AU/Crack/Crossover Edition](http://bibliothekara.livejournal.com/20690.html)   
> **Prompt** : "Hotch and JJ, children as salvation, children as damnation."

*******

JJ can't explain it. She usually doesn't want to. She knows it's unfair to Will. She knows she's been unfair to Will nearly since the day they've met. She's trying to overcome that, but JJ just hasn't managed it yet.

But when it's bad, when it's really incredibly bad... like, North Mammon, Foyet, Allegheny *bad*...she makes a beeline for her baby boy.

Those days when she can't bear to be held, when the merest comforting touch from Will sends her into spiraling silent hysterics. Those are the days when she heads for her boy. For her Henry.

She'll sit watching him with Mr. Tennyson, the stuffed pig. (The stuffed pig her best friend gave her in 11th grade. Right before she left. Right before she went off to, God or whomever knows where.)

Or she'll send Will out for some errand at the Kroeger's, and just spend a morning or afternoon in the park. Henry on the grass, pointing out things, coming up with words for things he doesn't have the names of yet.

Or the late nights, when she can't sleep, or those nights when she just doesn't see the sense in sleeping. She'll be unfair to her baby too, pick up him out of his bed, out of those cute little SpongeBob sheets they found.

Henry's like his daddy. A sound sleeper. He's past that particular stage of being, past "will he sleep through the night or not", and moved straight on into the "would sleep through a sonic boom" stage.

So she picks him up with the gentlest touch, and watches...whatever. Sometimes she doesn't even know. Sometimes (she smiles to think of this) it's a late night Star Trek rerun. And she would swear to God he smiles at that first major chord.

Because Henry's like his daddy. His daddy, who'll comfort you even when you'd swear out loud you do not deserve it. Henry William Lamontagne, who'll break hearts, but never mean to. Henry, who will *know* women more then most, who'll be the salvation of his mother, and his aunts, and his "aunts."

But right now, he's hers. In this midnight hour, he belongs to JJ alone, and damned if she will give him up.

***

Hotch will open the door quietly, sometimes. Just a crack, not even with the light on. Because that would wake Jack. No brief shaft of light, no creak of the door hinge.

Because there's no sense, no purpose in inflicting this on Jack. It's not for him...well, it's for him, but it's not, if that makes any sense at all.

Midnight is the only time he can do it. Midnight, or 1 AM, or any of those time when normal people are asleep.

Hotch doesn't flatter himself that he's anywhere near "normal.' Not any more. He doesn't even give himself the inner praise of "half-way towards normal."

He's never going to be that again. He knows it. And that's why he watches.

He owes that much to Jack. What he owes to Jack...what he owes to Jack is the appearance of normal. Not "appearance to the outside world." Hotch knows, intimately, what that feels like, and he wants better for his son.

What he wants for, what he owes to his son is the appearance of normal between them. Between him and Jack, even if it doesn't feel like it.

This is why he needs to watch. This is why he needs to practice.

To practice not burning inside, twisting in longing pain every time he sees Jack's blue eyes and dirty blonde hair.

To practice not reliving every cut, every stab, every taunt Foyet inflicted upon him.

To practice not feeling every shot he pumped into the curtain, every blow he shoved towards the wall, every punch he used to make sure George Foyet's face would never again be recognizable to the human eye.

To practice not feeling damned, not feeling lost and hopeless every time he looks at Jack.

Hotch watches his son as he sleeps, tries to take in every inch of the little boy he loves.Because Jack deserves that much, even if Hotch doesn't.

  
 ***fin***   



End file.
